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The Obligatory Limericks Game Reincarnated
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And so it begins....
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I shall reach for my coat and my hat
Don them, adjust my cravat (Chasty) Your jerk muscles are situated in your hand and forearm and I detect overuse.
The make for the door
For us who don't score
The whorehouse will remedy that
My life has been turned upside down
In my new job as "Famed Head-stand Clown"
The blood to my head rushes
Which gives me hot flushes
Which at least brings some kind of renown
There once was a man who was smart
Who could cunningly conceal a fart
Or so he had thought Fool. You can never achieve that.
Because he was caught
Claiming hydrogen sulphide as art.
I wish I had super strength
I'd not ask, "Are the foils all a length?"
I would just use me arms
And switch on all my charms
Albeit imbibe far less absinthe.
One day while washing my car
Of bird droppings, fag ash and tar Last one absolutely dreadful.
Which clogged up my chamois *careful now*
And made it all clammy Antipodean Pronunciation invoked
Now it's shining and worthy a Czar
In French, but not English, there's gender (Pablo) Wot, clamwah?.
In UK its a wing, not a fender
US -"center", not "centre"
but you can tell what is meant: a
In this case we've arrived at The Ender.
My boss (it's a she) never knows
The colour I've painted my toes
One day I'll surprise her
By using Budweiser
And the powder left from Cheetos.
The good folk of Chorlton-cum-Hardy
Are quite underweight - never lardy
But the chiels o' Dumfries
Are loaded with grease
Smelly, obese and quite mardy
There was an old man of Dundee called William Topaz McGonagall.
Who wrote verse that the people of Dundee and beyond found comical
He strove with heroic verse both night and day
Each effort more disastrous than the Tay
His poetry you can still see, serialised in the Edinburgh Chronicle
It seems at last we've found our level
And so we can begin to revel [Simons]Is this some quaint old Tudor metre for limericks that you have resurrected?
Poetic form is so passé 4 lines, AABB?
The Lim'rick déclassé - It still works as a Limerick, IMHO: It seems at last we've found our level / And so we can begin to revel / Poetic (pronounced pwetic) form is so passé
But this stuff sounds more like Phil Neville. (Phil notNeville) You're a kinder man than me. SM's line can be greatly improved by inverting we've and at last. (Pablo) Any further references to "quaint old Tudor" will be treated with the utmost disdain. :-)
So who took my great name in vain
The whole world, old chap, once again Not a diamond geezer, then.
On the silvery Tay
As you stood up to say: [Rosie]Scorn my Tudor references as you will, the fact remains that Simons started us off in 6/8 metre but with crotchet-quaver pattern ending on a weak beat, whereas you finish with traditional limerick 6/8, all in quavers and finishing on the strong beat. Metric mismatch! (Sorry for expressing it in musical terms but have forgotten all that anapestic/trochaic/pterodactyls stuff.)
"Would you look at that f***ing big train!"
That's silly enough for the nonce
About with this stuff let's not ponce (Pablo) It was mock indignation, a joke (note the smiley), nothing to do with metre. Are you aware of my real name, and age? I thought most the the Morniverse was.
Just get to the point
Or we'll have to appoint
A gendarme to whack noobs on the bonce.
I spied from behind a net curtain
A something, of which I'm not certain? It could be... may-be not... or may-be it's... No, sorry I can't make it out, can any of you?
Could it be a duck? [Rosie] re name and age, I have heard rumours, but would not like to act on anything unsubstantiated :-)
Flattened out by a truck
Or hotpot by Betty Turpin
The Thames did once stink to high heaven
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